


hold my hand

by alpacamybags



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Child Loss, Episode: s04e21 Terra Prime, F/M, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:20:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26434825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpacamybags/pseuds/alpacamybags
Summary: T'Pol thinking and grieving after the events of Terra Prime.
Relationships: T'Pol/Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	hold my hand

I stare at the pendant that dangles helplessly and aimlessly from my fingers, swaying with the gentle motion of the warp core’s pulses. I want to cry. But my body, my disciplined mind, will not allow that. Instead I am left grieving in silence, unable to weep for my child. I feel a minuscule twinge of envy before it is buried underneath layers of Vulcan composure- envy for humans and their ability to work with their emotions. And then I remember that the combination of Vulcan calm and human impulse is what killed my daughter.

It is not fair to her. It’s not fair to Elizabeth, who had a right to life. She could have grown up, a symbol of inter species cooperation. Instead, she died an infant. And it’s my fault.

If I were human. If my ears were rounded, my eyebrows neatly arched, my blood red and my heart in the center of my chest instead of embedded in my side. If only I had a closed, undisciplined mind, free of useless emotional suppression systems that only serve to leave me here, now- wallowing in my deep desire to cry. 

But tears will never come. Not without Trellium flowing through my veins and arteries. I wonder if Elizabeth would have learned to cry, or if she would have been like me. Alone, forever.

But she will never have the chance to live, to grow, to laugh, to cry. She will never know life. If only I were human. Then she would be living, breathing, and growing. And then I would be able to cry. 

The door chimes. It’s him. My voice is steady, cursed Vulcan composure taking charge over my conflicting emotions. 

“Come in,” I say calmly, as if this was one of our neuropressure sessions during the Xindi mission in the Expanse. 

He’s crying. Of course he is- he’s human, and his daughter has just died. Our daughter has just died. 

His presence impacts me deeply. It’s the telepathic bond- but suddenly I feel. I feel. 

He’s talking, but my heart doesn’t listen. All my brain can process is that his voice is cracking with the power of the raw emotion that we both share. The tears stream down his face, as I only wish they would flow down mine. 

“I just spoke with Phlox,” he says. 

Unwillingly blinking tears from my eyes, I look at him. He looks awful- really awful. As if he hasn’t slept nor eaten in two days- which, of course, neither of us has.   
“It turns out there was a flaw in the technique that Paxton's doctors used in the cloning process. Human DNA and Vulcan DNA, Phlox says there's no medical reason why they can't combine.”

That’s- not possible. It was the clash. That’s what Phlox said. The clash between Vulcan and Human genes- they weren’t compatible.

“So if a Vulcan and a human ever decided to have a child, it'd probably be okay.” He takes a shaky, unstable breath. “I guess that's sort of comforting.”

Seized by the intensity of my grief, and anger at Terra Prime for both bringing my daughter to life with stolen DNA and for killing her, I grab his hand. The physical contact strengthens the bond, and he knows. He knows how badly I want to blame myself, and how I long to cry like he can. And how much, in just a day, I came to love our child more than anything any Vulcan has ever loved before. The touch is desperate, and he squeezes my hand. 

A single tear, as lonely as I was a moment ago, flows down my face and falls on the pendant. And I whisper her name. 

“Elizabeth.”

And another tear falls, and then another, and another. And I hold Trip’s hand, and he calls my name, because I know that I am screaming, sobbing, grasping the pendant with the strength of an Andorian guardsman. 

And I hold his hand through it all. Because love is more powerful than being Vulcan. Long buried love for him, and the fresh, bleeding wound of Elizabeth that will never scar, never heal, are more powerful than logic. 

If I were human, it would not have made a difference. 

The pain will live on, as she never could. But the love that we feel for her will never die, never grow weak. 

Logic can be flawed like the procedure that created Elizabeth. But love is pure. And so is memory, where I will carry my daughter through the only existence she can know. 

“T’Pol,” Trip says, his voice weak. 

And I know. 

I am human, and he is Vulcan, in all of the ways that count. Physiology doesn’t matter- not when who we are, and can learn to be, is more important. 

I am T’Pol. My infant daughter, Elizabeth, died today. And I will learn to go on, to live for her, and with her. 

I set the pendant down on my bedside table, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. 

“Hold my hand,” I tell him, weakly. 

And when he does, for the first time, I don't let go.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on ff.net a solid four years ago, and finally got an account on here. Since it was my best story, I cross-posted. I don't normally write fanfic in first person, but I hope that y'all enjoyed. Reviews are always welcome, and thank you for reading!


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